


Light that scared away the shadows

by fangirlishpostss



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, For the Love of Shadow Weaver, Internal Conflict, Mystacor (She-Ra), Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, Second Chances, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner Lives (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner Redemption (She-Ra)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27866690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlishpostss/pseuds/fangirlishpostss
Summary: Shadow Weaver expected to die, to finally be free of this world, all her attachments and failures. Yet the world did not seem to agree and now she has to live with the second chance, she did not expect and she wasn't even sure she wanted. She has to live with who she was and who she will be now. It meant redoing all the bad she had done, it meant she will see that the Horde had ruin more lives than just those of her cadets and former students.
Relationships: Adora & Catra & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Castaspella & Micah (She-Ra), Castaspella & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Castaspella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Glimmer & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra), Micah & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 90
Kudos: 90





	1. Bound to fail

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've JUST finished one fanfiction, but I can't get enough of them...I need help bye

> I was just like the rest of them, and then I left. Not because I picked up this Sword, but because it was the right thing to do. I have to believe that the others can change too, even Shadow Weaver. 
> 
> (Adora, 3x01)

She knows what must be done, it is the only way. It was always meant to end like this, she tells herself and there is no feeling of hesitation as she turns her back on the sweet magic that runs through The Heart. She pushes her out, she needs her to live. She needs both of them to live. If someone needed to die, it felt only right that it was her. No one has placed more suffering onto the world than her. 

It was always about saving Etheria. Light Spinner ended to save it, Shadow Weaver became to free it and finally she was to die to make it happen. It is the right choice, probably the only right choice that could not turn bad.

The feeling of the sun against her skin, in the life so old and forgotten. The life she had gave up for the metal mask and cold halls of The Fright Zone. It passes somewhere in her mind and she knows. She was happy once, once when her day consisted of studies and classes. Micah's sweet talent, friendship betrayed, dead. Where she had longed for knowledge she turned to power, hungry, needy. Selfish, a monster to scare Mystacor's children with. From the greatest sorceress to ever walk its halls to its worst nightmare.

She never meant to turn to Horde, yet she was destined to fail in everything. She had failed Mystacor, she had failed Micah, Adora and Catra and who knows how many more. The number of her failures went on and on, but for once she could put a stop to it. With such a simple act.

Her dark magic for the magic of the whole planet, the price is small. Her life for the life of thousands and thousands of people, it is nothing. Her death for their lives, everything she did she did to protect them from the world. If she hurt them than no one else could, but they were always meant to live. Adora and Catra, her toxic shadows will finally set them free. She will be the one protecting them for once, though that was what she always tried to do. She lost sight somewhere along the way, she had failed in that too. Mind too corrupted by the shadows, that even now when there was no hesitation it was hard to resist their whispers, their cold restrains.

She'll set herself free. Like the bird outside her cage, she'd fly again. The chains of her shadows will be unlocked, she could be who she hoped to be. If only once, if only to herself, she can be Light Spinner again or what's left of her, she summons her from the furthest parts of her souls. Still, she does not feel like Light Spinner, she isn't full, what was left was a pathetic mixture of lights and shadows. Light Spinner was dead, gone and soon she will be too. There was nothing more to be done than to be free of the pain of life, of its disappointments and empty promises. So, she let go. 

It burns as if hundreds of fires are set above her and in her and it hurts as if millions of arrows are passing though her, ripping her apart until she is nothing but the sparks of Etherian magic, flying free, unchained against the new world. Her shadows surrendering to light, crumbling to nothing but ash underneath her. And then like the bolt of lightning sent from the deepest darkest place in the universe, she is being pulled back together or perhaps she has never been torn, maybe it was all a dream she does not know.

Yet as her eyes flutter, the ashes of her shadows remain, there's no magic in her, but she feels it all around her. It tingles every nerve, and she does not understand how she sees the stars above her. Is this death? It didn't not feel like such as her head spun, and her body was burning again against the wet grass that could not turn it off. The voices ring inside her ears, too high, pinching her senses. Purple hair, Adora's face, unmatched color of Catra's eyes, it flashes before her and it exchanges with the darkness. Hands on her skin, so many feelings, too real, too painful, magic, light magic around her and she knows she has failed again.

She has lived and that made her want to cry and scream. Slap all those hands that were helping her. It is wrong, it is not supposed to be this way. Shadow Weaver wanted to be free, she doesn't need this, whatever it is she does not need it. _Go away!_ She wants to yell, _let me die at least._ Was it written in the stars that she was bound to fail, what kind of trick had the world sent her way? Why can't she be free? Perhaps she doesn't deserve it, but she does she was willing to give her life for it. Her magic was gone for it, but she is still here. She shouldn't be, she doesn't belong in this world. Adora was right she had ruined everything she had touched, including her own death.

Yet she was bound to Bright Moon, to recovery. For days she slips between conscious and unconscious. Desperate groans of pain, so pathetic she could not stop them as different people filled her vision, different, yet always the same. She feels their magic on her, they're healing her as much as they can, she knows. If only they would stop their efforts. Darkness consumes her too soon, she never gets to say it, never awake for more than a few meaningless seconds. 

He comes too, like she had never wronged him, as if she had never hurt him. His magic runs through her too and he and that foolish daughter of his are the only ones that sit by her bed, she can feel their presence in the air, but it's mostly just him. He talks to her sometimes and she keeps on 'sleeping'. It's easier not to look at him or anyone as her conscious can now stretch for hours.

She feels the absence of the cold mask, she loathes it, and she wonders what they think when they look at her. The face marking her mistakes as if no one else had made one...no one except her. 

He calls her Light Spinner, and he calls her Shadow Weaver, he talks about the past and present, sometimes such random, useless information, but he talks.

"Glimmer has finally managed that spell.", she could hear the happiness of his voice, but she still keeps her eyes shut, "She gets it from me." And she wants to smile too, but she doesn't.

He comes so rapidly once; she barley manages to lay back down. With a happy sigh he's sitting in his usual place, "Casta wants me to visit.", and at first Shadow Weaver is not sure who he's talking about, "It's been only a week since the war ended, but I think I'll go. I miss home." She realizes than, it's Mystacor that he's talking about, Casta as in a sister, as in Castaspella and she wonders if her observations had gone dumber without the magic in her blood.

"You really think I believe you are sleeping every time I come in here." Micah says once almost as if he's angry and she still doesn't understand why he insist on coming. Though much less now, almost spending half of his time back in Mystacor. "We'll talk once I'm back." She hopes he doesn't mean it, yet he does.

All that was left of Light Spinner lives in him, all the good she ever was she can see it in him. Right in his eyes, it's all there, but still, she cannot take it back, it's not hers to take, not anymore. It's weird she knows to think that she ever was anything else than bad, yet it does not feel completely wrong. It was the truth, she was good once, her bad deeds overweighted her good ones, that was all. 

He brings wine, the third time that week. She talks, they talk, as if they are friends as if he wants them to be. Would she want that? He talks about his family with her, with Shadow Weaver, the enemy, but perhaps she has never been that in his eyes or at least he won't let her see it. 

He's prideful of his life, his daughter most of all. She understands, agrees, Glimmer is a good ruler, good sorceress...good person and she too had suffered under her hands. So, she prefers not to say much, it feels wrong. He talks about his sister almost as much, his eyes full of joy and that same pride, but this time she does not understand. The head sorceress was nothing like Micah, nothing like Glimmer. She was barley of any help, obnoxious little thing. _You don't care about Micah._

Shadow Weaver does not mind bringing this into question. "It seems like you give her too much credit.", the wine doesn't taste as sweet as it used to, "From what I've seen she's not as half as good as you and I would definitely not give her the title that she has. It should belong to yo-", but he stops her, making her wonder if she stepped over the invisible line people create, yet Micah's not angry, he simply says.

"Casta's stronger than she lets on." She doubts that, but he doesn't bring her up again, not until weeks later.

In the meantime, not as, everyone is as easy as Micah. Catra and her bring tension whenever they are in the same room, whenever their eyes meet, so countless meals end up in a fight. Adora looks at her apologetically, yet there's more to it underneath, she knows her too well and she sees her anger too, but Adora's too good to let into it. She's better than Shadow Weaver and Catra, better than anyone in this room. 

There's still a feeling like something should be said, like what happened wasn't enough, but she never knows what that is.

Even if they don't fight, the tight atmosphere is always there, everyone feels it, no one can breathe because of it. Catra lashes out and she lashes out and so on it goes, they are too similar, too bitter, too ruined. It's not long before the solution is being looked for, no one has to say it to her directly, but she knows. So, she stops coming to meals, she avoids everyone, but Micah, yet it still comes.

"You don't deserve forgiveness...", he says it with so much calm, it makes her heart clench hard in her chest. Coming from him was different, it didn't matter if it was the truth or not. "No one does." His hands are on her shoulders, she tries to get it, "Forgiveness is earned and sometimes people need time and space to do it." Perhaps, there was still a chance for her, it flutters inside her, until it's pulled away again and she finally understands what this is all about. "Glimmer and I had talked, and we think it would be best if you move back to Mystacor. Castaspella agreed to accept." Mystacor? Of all the places they could have send her to...that one was too painful, it's where she came to be. She doesn't want to go, but she does not have much of a choice, does she? "We'll go in a few days." One more pitiful smile and he's gone leaving her to process this alone.

Yet the quietness does not last long as another knock comes from the outside of her doors, that soon won't be hers. Her heart beats louder and she does not know why, but she hopes that perhaps Adora came to talk to her at last, to say goodbye. Still even such little wishes manage to break hard as the doors are pushed with a squeak and all she has to see are all the pinks and purples to know it's not her.

"Your majesty." She greets in her usual style, voice low, heavy.

The girl in front of her lowers her head before speaking, "I'm sorry it came to this.", she's too good to be in her presence, she can feel it tugging at her heart, she should not be here like Micah should not have been with her when she was casting the spell, "But I wanted to give you this.", the small arm is stretched towards her and it looks perfect against her scarred one, a small object is given to her and she brings her palm up. A small moon shaped crystal shines against her eyes, "Perhaps we can continue our lessons someday." She's gone before she can thank her, maybe it's better that way, Shadow Weaver wasn't sure if she even wanted to acknowledge such sentiments acts. The young queen at the end of the day was the one that made the decision of her leaving final. Still, she places the gem along with her other belongings, not that there was much to be packed and she awaits for the day they make her go back to that hell.


	2. Lost opportunities

It does not take long for it to come, barely three days pass since he announced it to her. No one really comes to say goodbye and she does not expect them to, not anymore. All they had was a quiet, fight free breakfast and more she does not deserve. Yet it's unsettling, everyone walking on eggshells, pretending that it's not happening. She almost lashes out, she loathes the peacefulness of it all, especially when her heart is filled with even more bitterness than normally, especially when it's so badly staged. Shadow Weaver doesn’t need their fake pity.

The journey itself is tiring, they travel half by foot, half by magic. Two guards at their sides at all times as if she stood a chance against Micah...like she stood a chance against anyone without the magic in her veins.

Still, there's something soothing about sleeping under the stars, if only for one night against the green grass. She finds herself admiring the beauty of the universe, little dots shining through the night and she wonders how long it has been since she found anything beautiful. It's easy to see it without the shadows around her mind, around her body. With them gone it was much easier to feel, to feel everything, but most if not all of it was bad, guilt, regret, suffering, anger. It was as if her body had been numb and now, she had awoken every muscle, every nerve. That's why it hurts to go back, that's why it's painful to face the people she hurt...it's hard to accept she became what she hated the most, she was what she once fought against.

And Mystacor...Mystacor was a real, physical reminder of it all and it made her stomach clench so tight, she thought she might be sick. But she was Shadow Weaver, she won't allow herself that, there was still a pride to maintain. Besides, it was too late for her to start acting like a hero or whatever they were trying to make her become. She thought by 'dying' she deserved forgiveness, but it was just a silly thought and she did not need it. She's Shadow Weaver after all.

"Couldn't you have sent me to Beast Island?" She questions as she realizes how close they are. "At least...it'll be more fitting." She clenches her robes, heart is beating louder, but she won't show it. There's a longing for the cold, metal mask, a veil, anything. Everyone is going to stare, she knows, she knows.

"I know you aren't aboard with this, but it is for your own goo-"

"Oh, cut the crap." She lashes out, it's wrong. Without the shadows she finally feels when her actions are hurting other people, yet it's still stronger than her. "It's for their good, not mine...we both know that.", she doesn't blame them, just wishes it did not come down to Mystacor.

"Just try!", he rises his voice and Micah never does that, not with her, "Mystacor has changed too. Give it a chance..." He stops, catching a deep breath as he starts to draw a circular spell, "If not we'll think of something else." The spell is finished causing her to close her eyes tightly, it was only a matter of seconds. Once she opens them, she'll be back to a place that was home long ago, but not anymore.

Her eyes barely flutter, "Micah!", it echoes through her ears and she does not have to look to know they are in Mystacor. The gates are being open, and she hears loud steps, she finally dares to look. The head sorceress is practically running towards them, towards Micah. She crushes him into a hug, head buried in his shoulder and he returns the favor, wrapping his arms even tighter. "I've missed you." It almost makes her scoff, she knows Micah visited last week, there was no need for such acts.

"Head sorceress.", she says as their affection is finally broken, she has to say it because she hates the way she looks at her bare face, smile disappearing. The surprise and everything else she didn't want to recognize.

Her arms are crossed in front of her chest as she's the one to scoff, "Shadow Weaver." She already hates it here, "Didn't expect you to come dressed like a normal person." And even now she was so close to lashing out, but Micah stops it all before it even comes to it. Perhaps it's better, the guards are only waiting for an excuse to strike her down...and so is the woman in front of her, she remembers her words well.

"Casta!" The young sorceress frowns, arms dropping at her side, it's a short sight, but it is hard to keep the need to laugh down. Shadow Weaver always loved a bit of pettiness, especially when it was directed to such incompetent people.

"Ugh! Come!", she's smiling again, dragging him by his arm, "I've prepared a feast."

She didn't expect to be invited to the luxurious dinner, she did not even feel like eating, stomach still clenching hard, but she stays because...well she doesn't even know why. 

It's just the three of them and it makes it even more awkward than all the meals she ate in Bright Moon. The siblings talk and talk, nothing too personal for her to hear, yet they never shut up. Micah tries to include her here and then, but his sister not so much. _Castaspella agreed to accept._ Well, she wonders how much persuading it took because if anything it seems that the head sorceress could barely stand her presence there. It was mutual at least.

Shadow Weaver doesn't understand the relationship that's portrayed in front of her. There's no bitterness over them, no jealousy. Just hugs, talks, small sibling like affections and she does not understand. She was never a people's person, but this was too odd. Micah was always better at everything and no one failed to mention it, not even herself. And the sister, he loved so dearly, was barely average, no one talked much about her in her time as Light Spinner, it was simply Micah's sister, nothing more. There should be some kind of rivalry, jealousy, but even if there is, she cannot see it.

Their shortly shared time during the war did not make her change much of her opinions. First Ones, Castaspella could not even draw a truth spell correctly and she was the head sorceress. Mystacor has really stoop low even for all it was, she wonders how badly it has truly changed. 

She quietly taps her foot underneath the table, waits to be excused, but they're lost in their conversation, they don't even notice her anymore and perhaps it's better. It's easier to observe when no one is paying attention. If there was anything, she knew how to do it was just that, observe her surroundings, people around her. They don't even realize how much they reveal by simply being.

"How long will you be staying?", her eyes catch the way Micah's face slightly drops, he lowers his fork, hands pressed together under his bearded chin.

Clearing his already clear throat he starts, "I'm going at first light, there's important business back...", he stops almost as if he does not know if he should call Bright Moon his home, "I need to be back as soon as possible.", and so he doesn't address it at all.

"Oh." The head sorceress's face is filled with disappointment even if she thinks she's hiding it, she is too obvious. Too easy to read. "I've just thought you'd stay longer." Why would he? Shadow Weaver and everyone else already knew he's spending too much time in Mystacor. The war was over, but his real responsibility is still to Bright Moon, not with his clingy sister, who she now realizes is probably in fault for all his absence.

Yet he seems guilty, he shouldn't, it makes her bitter again, not that she ever stopped being that. He untangles his hand, dropping one on top of his sister's and there's a personal conversation playing, yet she's deaf to it, she does not know how to read the silent gazes. She doesn't wish to either.

It's too late, yet the dinner was being dragged out and she on the edge of her nerves. Almost chuckling gratefully as the head sorceress rose from the tables excusing herself. Another hug played before her eyes, a forehead kiss and quiet whisper she couldn't hear and then she was gone. But the two of them still stayed.

"Promise me you'll try." She can't, not when her promises meant nothing. They were just empty words, and she won't give him that, he doesn't deserve it. Understanding her quietness, he continues, "I know there's still good in you. I know you weren't always like that." Her throat seems to clench and there's this weird feeling inside of her like she does not want him to leave...to leave her here alone. Micah was the only one that came close to understanding her, but she does not say it, those words are weakness, her shadows even dead still hold a grip over her.

He's walking towards the big, white doors and she wants to say something, but she can't, she's not ready. Yet her body longs for a hug, it's stupid, but she wants one too, even if it's disgustingly vulnerable. Yet her mind doesn't allow her to move, she watches him leave and once again she's alone.

The walk to her new room is long and dead silent except her shoes that clink against the polished floor. She's passing through the Hall of Sorcerers, trying hard to keep her head on the floor, not wanting to look at the statues staring down at her. Yet she can't help, but to stop at the one black with dust, she meets her eyes and her veiled face. They are in the dark, dirty but they hold all she was, all she could have been if she did not mess with what she did not understand, but still, she knows for Etheria she'd do it again and again. If only the Guild wasn't so blind, so useless, she could've done both, if only they've chosen to help her. If someone had listened to her...yet at the end of the day it was her fault, her choice, no one made her do it. Light Spinner thought she was good enough to change the spell into something good, but she wasn't, she never was.

She keeps walking through the hall every day, for who knows what unknown reasons. It does not bring anything good, just more anger, more regret. Yet she continues down it, every single day, even though she knows at least three other ways. And every time she passes her own statue Micah's words replay in her mind. Perhaps, she needs that reminder, perhaps she should try...but it's still a big maybe, she knows. But Shadow Weaver still continues her path, straight ahead.

There's a maid, a slightly older woman that comes in every day. She's not a maid in sense that she does much for her, yet she didn't expect the luxury of even having a 'maid'. One that brings her clean clothes and meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner always at the same time because she eats in her room, barely leaves it if she's to be honest. Shadow Weaver knows to expect the stares when she steps outside, but enough people have already seen her scars so she stays inside as much as she can. 

When passing through the halls of the castle she is so unfortunate to meet old colleagues, friends if she could even consider them more than acquaintances. Their eyes are cold, and she hears their inaudible whispers as soon as her back is turned to them. Somethings never seem to change, no matter the time that passes by. 

She's lucky enough not to see the head sorceress more than a few times. Usually, those are just random times she sees her in the halls. She is glad she does not need to waste her time on her. That incompetent woman always walking somewhere, with that stupid smile on her face. Did she not have something to do? Wasn't she the ruler of this whole island? Yet quickly she learns where the sorceress passes the most and it's probably one of the reasons, she does not see her as much. Shadow Weaver could avoid people as easily as one could walk. She observed and she took it in her advantage.

So, her days pass mostly in between the four walls of her room. She slept and she ate, and she observed and avoided and so on it went. It was boring, tiring to go in circles every day, it didn't feel like change, yet everything is better than people looking at her. It was too easy to guess what they were thinking, not that's she needed to guess at all. They are disgusted by her and she doesn’t blame them, but still it hurts when the same people that once admired her now can’t even wait for her to pass before they are putting her name inside their mouth. People that are sickened by her scars, how does she explain that she is too?

That’s why only rarely she walks through the tranquil gardens that are the most beautiful in whole of Etheria, she barely ever walks down to the cloudy beaches even though she loved them once. And the steam grottos, those she uses only when she truly must and when she’s really, really sure there’s no one there. The last thing she needs is for people to stare at her scarred body. And so, she stays in her room, dwelling over the past and all the opportunities that were now long gone, lost to time.


	3. Mysteries of mistakes

It rings through the night third time that week. Screams, high pitched, they echo loudly, and they last for a few moments before everything is quiet again. They never last long,but to her they seem to stretch into the abyss. Even though it wasn't the first time, she still has the same reaction. Jerking out of bed, heart beating hard, she listens in her own panic and she waits for the quietness as her hand grips the sheets. Yet in the morning everything is back to its tranquility like nothing ever happened. Loud echoes are replaced with the bird's chirping, different voices and children's laughter.

Curiosity is high, just like it should be in any real sorcerer. But like the castle the people inside of it act like everything is perfect. They are all back in their own little routines, the head sorceress with her obnoxious cheerfulness walking through the halls, different sorcerers walking to their classes, the maid bringing her breakfast with the same stoic expression as always. She almost thinks she imagined it as she asks her, "What were those screams?" and the maid, whose name she still doesn't know lifts her dead gaze at her. 

"I did not hear anything." Leaving the tray on the small table in the middle of the room, she limps out. A defect Shadow Weaver had noticed, but still did not ask about. She wants to know about the limp, about the screams. Whose mistakes, were they? Everyone could read the mistake behind her scar, yet theirs they've kept hidden. She wishes to ask for a veil, a mask, something to hide her hideous face, yet that would mean letting them win, letting them know she's bothered by their stares. Shadow Weaver can't allow that.

Frustratingly she ate the breakfast too luxurious for her, drinking the Mystacor's special tea that she so terribly missed in the Horde. The mysterious screams leaving her mind for a few minutes as she now dwells on the way she found pleasure in a thing as simple as tea.

From the time she left Mystacor until her failed death pleasure was in winning the war, staying at the top, choosing what's best for Etheria...Etheria, Etheria, Etheria. Everything has been about Etheria for so long that she forgot what it was like to simply exist, let alone enjoy the existence served to her. It's still hard to understand why they couldn't have let her die, her duty to Etheria has been finished. There was absolutely no reason for the spell to keep her alive, yet she's here. She's back in Mystacor, where no one can stand her, she's nothing her but a subject of gossiping. In Mystacor where someone is screaming every few nights and no one other than her has seemed to notice. 

Has she finally gone nuts? Could the spell have messed with her mind like it did with her death? It couldn't have because there were no weird screams in Bright Moon, just those of Catra's and hers.

She's not crazy, she was sure of it as she notices a pattern. Everyone acted clueless but Shadow Weaver wasn't dumb, she knew how to get her answer even quietly. How to work in shadows, listening, observing, being one herself.

The screams would wake her up in the middle of random nights, in the mornings everything would be as it always was. Perfectly fine, everything was so perfect in Mystacor, always so perfect. Yet she knew it wasn't as barely a day or two after the screams Micah would come. He claims it's business, war rebuilding, just visits, but every time it's after the screams. It happens like that every few days and with the minimum of answers she was going crazy. 

She tries to figure it out by herself, but there's too little of information to fully connect the dots. So, her days sometimes pass in different theories, none of which make her closer to the real answer. If anything, it only leaves her full of frustrations, which then lead to wine nights or if truly unable to fall asleep she goes to the steam grotto. For the few first times it goes by well, there's no one there in such late hours, no one to see the scars she hid under different robes and she enjoys the feeling of quietness joined with the healing minerals. Yet she should have known that sooner or later it will come back to bite her.

Her legs stop in her track as she spots the two of them there. The head sorceress is sitting in one of the pools and the same maid that brings her meals is gently rubbing the healing water over her arms. 

Her voice hides the unexpected surprise, "Head sorceress.", yet her greeting goes by unnoticed. The maid gives her one of those cold stares, while the woman addressed keeps looking straight ahead as if she hadn't heard her.

Her eyes are moving left and right, trying to find the furthest pool she could. Though she’d much rather leave she won't give them that satisfaction. Swiftly she's dropping her robe, using the ignoring she's getting from the sorceress. And once she's hidden under the bubbly water, she dares to look at the duo. 

There was an unspoken rule from times as old as Mystacor itself that the head sorcerers weren't allowed in the steam grottos. Using their relaxing water was a sign of distress and distress meant weakness. Then weakness meant their ruler wasn't strong enough to defend them.

That must have been why she came in these dead hours; she was hiding just like Shadow Weaver herself was. There's a need to poke at her, ask _since when do the head sorcerers use hot springs,_ but she stops before she even dares to open her mouth. Mostly because she does not want to bring unwanted attention to herself and then there's a fact that there is an exposed woman so close to her. It's not that she can even see down her shoulders from where she's standing, but the thought itself awakes a desire, the same one she felt in the Whispering Woods. But she stops that too, because the head sorceress is just the first one, she sees, it could be anyone there and she would still feel the same. She doesn't want her, not in a true sense of that word because Castaspella is all the things she despises. Average, childish, unskilled ruler...and Micah's sister. She's his sister and she shouldn't look at her like that, she shouldn't look at her at all. He wouldn’t want her to…there was not a single person in whole of Mystacor that would want for her to look at them, especially not in that way.

Yet it’s hard to take her eyes off when the woman is rising from her place. Warm water slipping down her flawless skin, but the maid is there in a second. Her hands wrapping warm robes around the head sorceress, taking away the view of the running drops. She watches them walk towards the exit, their eyes at last connecting as the wet steps stop in the middle of the room.

“Shadow Weaver.”, she says it as if only then she noticed her presence.

“Good night, your majesty.” With that the whole meeting is over, but she remembers to mark it as odd. Micah was right, Mystacor has changed, it was weird and mysterious, something secretive was going on and she had a new goal. Shadow Weaver finally gave herself something to do as she set on a path to discover what was going on. It must all be connected, the screams, Micah’s visits, the head sorceress coming down to the hot springs. She just couldn’t put the dots together, not when few of them were still missing.

The situation seems to worsen as the screams are much more frequent. Micah barely leaves before he’s back again. She still does not understand why he comes, his visits never seem to help much, she’s not even sure what it is that he does. But Shadow Weaver does not mind when he comes to see her too, share stories over a cup of wine or tea, all depending on the time. Though he mostly appears to come after dinner and as more time passes and with his ‘formal visits’ more recurrent he looks more tired, always wearing that weary expression on his face. She does not know why, but seeing him like that makes her uneasy… _just try,_ and she thinks she should, but what if she can’t? She’s been a villain for so long she’s not sure she can play any other role; not sure she wants to. Yet she managed to in the Heart, if only for that split moment, she broke free. There was no reason why she couldn’t the Spell of Obtainment didn’t hold her a prisoner anymore, not physically, yet she still didn’t feel like she was fully out of her cage. Perhaps, it was easier not to try.

“What is it?” her mouth manages to spill out, it feels odd to…to care about someone? Was that the uneasy feeling in her gut, was that why she felt she should say more to him, to Adora…to Catra?

“It’s nothing.”, he lifts his head off his palms, looks at her and she knows he’s lying. She knows he does not trust her. How could he after everything? He doesn’t trust her, yet he tries to help her, perhaps because he did once believe in her. Once long ago he would have told her without hesitation, but those times were long gone. So, she does not push further, she’ll have to find answers by herself.

Thus, when the piercing echo wakes her up next time, she’s quick to act. Grabbing her robe, she’s steps into the hallway, she knows she does not have much before the screams die out, so she follows theirs sounds. It wasn’t hard, not until she finds herself turning left, then left again, then right and straight ahead where she should not be. _Shit!_ Two guards stand in the corridor and she knows this is the wrong wing to be in. The head sorceress’ private part of the castle reserved only for her and she is for sure not on the list of people that should be here. Yet she takes a step forward as one of the guards is opening the doors to the room. She’s too interested, too intrigued not to. Why would they be coming from her chamber and for so long? It did not make much sense, yet if she thought about more, it would explain why Micah insisted on coming so often. It would explain the meeting in the steam grottos, why no one talked about it.

But as her boot clinks against the marble floor, her snooping is stopped. The guard dressed in Mystacor’s signature color catches her eye and she can’t help but to feel slight fear. She never was without magic, she was fearless with it, people feared her, yet now she’s helpless she knows. And everyone was waiting for her to mess up, to show her real color, even though she herself did not know what those were. But they did not look vibrant or good as she stood in the corridor from which the mysterious screams were coming from, the corridors of Mystacor's ruler.

The guard lady doesn’t hurt her, not really, but she pushes her away, grip too hard and she feels rage, raw and hungry burning inside of her. She’s Shadow Weaver, she can’t be clueless, helpless, dragged like rag, still she is, she knows it and everyone around her does. She is nothing without the magic in her veins, she’s nothing just like once so long ago she was nothing. As incompetent as the head sorceress. But she built herself up so why can’t she now? Why did she feel so stuck? Past, present, they’ve all mixed together, everything except the future. She could not see the future self, who she wanted to be? What if Micah is wrong what if there’s no good in her? What if she can’t be anything else than her bad deeds? And what if she doesn’t want to be anything more than she already is? But if she truly did not, why does her brain keep thinking about it?

Suddenly she’s passing next to her statue again, next to Light Spinner’s statue. It’s as dirty as her soul, yet she cannot bring herself to stop going that way. There’s a need to look at it. She shouldn’t be alive, but she was and that in itself was harder than dying…to live and to choose who you are going to be…to live with what you are, that was the true burden of life. If there was anything Shadow Weaver couldn't stand those were the burdens of life, which always seemed to find her, even in death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Add me on tumblr if you want to since I guess I'm using that again hahah https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/magicallkingdom  
> You can send me prompts there(or whatever) and if they inspire me enough I MIGHT write it idk


	4. Spite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quote from the beginning is translated from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f13SM7YL5o4

> Close your eyes green-eyed girl
> 
> tonight the old movie is playing again
> 
> and you're the main character
> 
> and I,I don't exsist,there's no me.
> 
> From new pain, the old one will pass
> 
> Not so long ago I heard about that

"I know it's your sister." She's now sure of it and she makes sure to tell him so. Shadow Weaver is sick of being left in the dark, if she was going to stay in Mystacor she was to know what's going on. In the Horde it was her job to make sure she knew everything, everyone, their movements, actions and it was hard to kick the old and persistent habit out. Not that she wants to do that, she likes being in step with all that is going around her. 

"What?" His voice pulls her out of her justifications, his eyebrows are knitted close together, eyes narrowed and lips in a slight _o._ She realizes then how random, unconnected her statement was, practically jumping at him with it, taking him off guard. It has been two days since the incident with the guard lady and she barely managed to await his visit, which she knew was coming. 

"The screams, your constant visits", she takes out the meeting in the grotto, there's no need for him to know about the hunting eyes that preyed over his sister's body, "I know it's all connected to the head sorceress." And the fact she sneaked into her corridors. 

"Shadow Weaver, I don't-"

She cuts him off, "You're worried...", it is not a statement or a question it was a simple fact. His eyes are always tired, thumbs twitching, leg tapping, going back and forth between two largely distant kingdoms. "Nervous", she leaves out it makes her uncomfortable to see the always cheerful Micah so down,"...scared"

His hands are in the air, waving at her, gesturing for her to shut up, "Alright, alright, just stop that mind reading..."

"It's no mind reading.", she chuckles ironically, "You're just too obvious." And only those who are refusing to open their eyes were blind to it and those who thought she was to follow them blindly just because they say everything is fine. It's the same thing Norwyn wanted to do, to make them all dumb sheep, to listen and nod to every pretty, little truth he would twist. As if they did not have brains to think for themselves, eyes to see or ears to hear, he was to be their senses, but Light Spinner had none of that, just like Shadow Weaver is not having any of this.

She walks to the little table, filling two glasses with red wine more sweet than bitter, so typical of Mystacor. He takes it from her half-stretched arm, glurping it quicker than she ever saw him before and then with a sigh he looks down to the half empty glass.

"You're right", of course she is, she is Shadow Weaver after all, "about Casta and me and...", she never interrupts letting him figure out his sentences “I just don't know how to help her." Crooking his head at her he says, and he looks so desperate that she cannot help but to hit him with another question.

"What's wrong with her?" 

Shadow Weaver expects some terrifyingly horrible answers from the man that weeks ago claimed his sister to be strong, her pointy ears wait for something like an illness with no cure, or a curse without the spell to break it free, she excepts death and destruction. Yet it's not like that, some pains are different from others, she understands that far too well.

"She always had this...um dream problem, even as a kid", he smiles gently, but it's a miserable, bitter smile, "...vivid dreams...but it was never like this." His voice is so full of emotion, all kinds that feel incredibly unknown to her heart and soul, "And so much has been going on since I came back, the war is over...there are so many things to work on, she's rebuilding half of Mystacor.", there's a hint of guilt when he says it and they both know he blames himself for the chipped state he was in and she wants to reassure him, but his words are quicker and it's better that way because she is not sure how to really do that. "She won't talk to me, I try, and I try, and I don't understand why she won't let me in. It's not like her."

Her hand grips his shoulder, it's the only comfort she can give, "People like to suffer alone." She's talking from her own point of view because she barely knows the head sorceress and she does not know how to give advice other than that on war politics and magic, her knowledge might be large, but still there were things books could not teach. So rather than some useless advice she gives her own confession. "They like to carry their own burdens, it's...", the lump in her throat doesn't leave her, it appears to grow and grow, but she still holds the grip over her voice, and firmly so, "It's easier than to admit they have a problem."

"I know, but she's my sister", his voice rises, it's shaky yet firm at the same time, "I can't just let her suffer." And her brain, for a split second only, gets lost in the woods of wondering what it is like to have someone to care about you. Someone that loves you so largely, so selflessly they would carry your burdens with you. And then her brain turns, and it questions now how it would be like to love someone the way Micah loves his sister, loving someone through their defects...

Shadow Weaver doesn't know what more to say, but she wants to help him. Help the head sorceress...for Micah because she owns him so much that even if she had thousands of second chances and third lives, she would still be unable to repay her depth. 

And the same thought haunts her for days and nights and even now as she's once again observing her own statue like something on it would change. She observes it so much that she knows every detail of her old looks, her old face and it's almost if she's looking for a sign it's getting clearer. Yet it's always the same and no new solution on how to ease Micah's worry comes.

Her head turns as she hears the clicks of heels, she wishes to flee, but there is no time. The steps are quick and before she knows it the surprise face of the head sorceress is staring back at her. Shadow Weaver wonders how her own face would look if she didn't have years of practicing her stoic, unemotional expression. Her embarrassment would for sure be obvious, staring at Light Spinner's statue. How pathetically low she has stoop.

The young ruler nods, "Shadow Weaver.", she's stepping closer, standing before her and her face is back to normal and her voice holds no emotion. 

"Your majesty." Her own fingers intertwine, arms dropping in front of her in her significant style. She uses the chance to quickly start the conversation, before the head sorceress can even question her presence in the Hall of Sorcerers. "Preparing for the monthly ceremony?"

"There's not much to prepare for...Haven't you heard already that Micah will be holding it?" The sorceress pokes at her, like there would be anyone to tell her. Her only company was the maid who barely answered her question, never spending more than a few minutes with her. And Micah, he avoided more and more of their meetings.

"I'm afraid I have not.", But Castaspella already knew that and her half smile shows it.

She crosses her arms over her chest, almost as if that way she'll meet her height, "I hope you're enjoying your stay."

"It's quite alright," This is her chance, she knows and so she continues, "but I must tell you, these screams I hear are making it hard to enjoy sleep." The brown eyes go slightly wider, before quickly composing, but she catches it. She catches the rosy color on her face, the same one that matches the pastel colors of the kingdom she rules.

"I'll check into it." Tone of her voice drops, no longer holding the indirect provocation, but her own just starts. She can't help it, it's the wrong approach, but it's stronger than her.

"You're an awfully terrible liar." Her legs step closer to the shorter sorceress. She towers over her and it gives her the feeling of boldness, that was not felt for months, "Has anyone told you that?"

"Excuse me?!" It cracks so vulnerably, she hit the right nerve and she knows that Castaspella knows that her secret is no longer a secret with her.

Yet she conforms it to her, "I know it's you.", she whispers as if the statues surrounding them might hear. Shame was so perfectly painted on her red face and she too knows it too well, even if she learned how to hide it unlike the head sorceress. Shadow Weaver feels it too, right now as she stands before such a porcelain face with her own scarred one. She knows what it's like, but she does not say it, even if it might ease the young woman, she doesn't, she cannot. But she wants to let her know that she does not come with bad intentions, she yearns to touch her burning face, show what she could not say, yet even if her brain allowed her the guard's strong steps interrupt. The head sorceress steps back before the guard came into their visions.

"Head sorceress.", he bows, side-eying her carefully, checking silently if his ruler is safe from her, "Your presence is needed with the Guild."

She doesn't say a word as she follows the guard out of the Hall of Sorcerers, not giving her one glance, yet her emerald eyes follow her. Perhaps she just made everything worse, perhaps she was in out of her head. 

She does not see him until the monthly ceremony which was to her luck only few days away from her meeting with the head sorceress. Her steps hurry through the empty halls, trying to catch up with him, the eclipse was over, and he was already going back to Bright Moon, no greeting given to her. 

"Micah!" He stops, turns around and she knows she messed up. She should have stayed away, she cannot help herself, let alone him or the head sorceress.

"Don't!", his stare is full of rage, fists clenching, "I confined in you because I thought you might have actually cared for once, I didn't expect you to go rub it in my sister's face."

"Micah, that's-"

"You know what?", he rises his hands, stopping the need to clench onto his hair, "I don't care. I told you already if you want to go down the same path, you're free to do so, no one will stop you. I do believe there's good in you I'm just not sure it's enough." He turns on his heels, almost sprinting out and she...Her chest feels tight and so does her throat and she can't help but to fist at her dress, pulling onto the collar as if that'll help her. There's a burning feeling in the same closed throat, her nose and her eyes that blurry her vision.

She's quick to find the path back to her room, locking the doors behind her. Yet her back can't seem to move away from the wooden surface, chest hurts harder as she tries to compose herself, keep it in, but it's stronger than her. All control feels lost as warm drops run down her face, her palm is at it immediately. It wipes them roughly, quickly, but they won't stop coming, no matter how much she tries to dry her face, they keep coming. 

She should have stayed away from other people's problems; she can't even change herself. Micah is right, there's no good in her, she's too wrapped in shadows. Finally, with the tears still warming her face she manages to move her legs. Aggressively she pulls the closet doors open, takes her bag out and starts to stuff as much as she could. And just as she was about to zip it shut, she catches her own hideous reflection. Only then does she realize tears meant she is crying; she is crying for the first time in who knows how many years. She's crying for the first time in this second-third life she got. She cries because she feels...she feels and it's so strong and painful...but she feels and that, that's beautifully painful and she lets the bag fall to the floor. Her scarred hands start to take the clothes out, placing it as it was moments before. 

Her past defines her, but she can work around it, she can make this better. In their spite she'll prove everyone, in her own spite she'll prove herself. If she's bound to this burden that was life, she'll carry it with head held high. She's Shadow Weaver and perhaps she can still be what she intended when she casted the Spell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a mess but anyways I want to wish you all a Merry Christmas I hope you have somewhere and someone nice to spend it with. If not I'm sending you a bunch of virtual hugs, kisses and cookies! But for real though why can't you text people here...how are you all supposed to receive the hugs kisses and most importantly virtual cookies?!


	5. Familiarity

A week or so passes by, she's not really sure, the days are all the same. They blend into the same pointless circle that flies by her and more and more time she spends walking up and down her room. Looking out the window, leaning dangerously far so, that adrenaline shots through her body, similar to the way dark magic did. Her eyes know every single detail of her room, every misplaced dot on the high, white ceiling. Sleep comes harder as every night she listens for the screams, yet they can never be heard, not since her talk with the head sorceress. Like the screams it looked like Micah disappeared from her new life too. He must have still been angry, perhaps he lost all hope that she can be _good._ She never had enough to begin with, only her spiteful filled behaviors. It's the easiest way to not end up disappointed. Having no expectations was a boring life, but it was a good one, at least it should have been enough.

The screams are gone, yet she can see her from her oriel walking through the large paths of Mystacor's gardens. She moves through the maze of flowers and fountains in the strangest hours. In hours dead with heavy silence when only the best of guards should be up. Her eyes follow her until she is far out of reach for the lights to illuminate her, and she can't help, but to wonder if she continues down to the beach or if she walks past the gates to the woods outside of the castle. The young ruler shouldn't be doing either, not in such dangerously late hours and definitely not alone. And she knows that is the only reason the screams are gone. They are gone because she does not sleep to make them come alive, she's not sleeping because of what she told her. And Micah did not come because of the same reason. 

Shadow Weaver still hasn't figured out a way to change things, on top all the things she had to make better from her old lives, now she had this fresh one to begin with, yet she did not know where to start. All she has sensed is an odd drawn to the head sorceress. It must be because she was the only thing that could connect her back to Micah, yet...yet she found her mind dwelling over that shameful face far more than it should have.

Her eyes are glued to the floor which pattern is blurring before her, it makes her dizzy and she tries harder and harder to focus her eyes. As she hurries down the Hall of Sorcerers, she can't bring herself to look up at Light Spinner. Shadow Weaver is sick of her gaze looking down at her, sicker of it than the floor pattern makes her. But the Hall of Sorcerers is the least crowded pathway to her corridors, and she does not wish for the real, living stares to look at her. So, she sprints through this Hell of statues instead and she is almost out. Almost, when her body crashes into something...someone that is. Her eyes instinctively shut down, arms in front her trying to ease the crash as something is dropping to the sickening floor, falling with loud, yet dulling bang and then another.

Shadow Weaver is just about to curse from the pits of her mind when a familiar voice makes her open her eyes. "I'm so sorry I-" the head sorceress stops as their gazes connect and she realizes she is apologizing to someone who is not worth of it. She, the top of Mystacor, no person above her here, apologizing. 

She looks down, looks at the heavy brown books that caused such a loud sound. Her mind recognizes them as she lowers down picking one of them, leaving the other to the sorceress. Old Guild books, garbage full of lies and faulty facts at most. "You should burn these.", the book is stretched to the woman in front of her, she herself can't stand to hold it any longer.

"Do not worry about it.", it's pulled roughly from her and a new annoyance fills her as she is once again standing under Light Spinner's figure in the head sorceress' presence.

"I wouldn't want you to improve your sloppy work with more lies." Her voice hisses and she doesn't even notice the defense way her arms cross over her chest.

"What do you want?!", her little companion is as annoyed as she herself is, perhaps more. It amuses her? Well, it kind of does. "Come to blackmail me? Or maybe you have some other dark intentions in that poisoned mind of yours..."

"Now, now, as fun as that would be", she steps closer, amusement definitely growing inside of her, "what use would I have from it?", her eyebrows arch down at the red-faced woman. "Besides, you bumped into me...you should be more careful, head sorceress." Shadow Weaver makes sure to stretch her title in that low, teasingly way, only she knew and there was just something about it, about towering over the ruler of a whole island that makes you, or her at least, feel like there's a piece of her old pride, power, still preserved. Even more so as Castaspella seems to be in loss of her between the lines wits and provocations.

Yet her eyebrows lower, face returning to stoic expression as she takes in the looks of her. The swollen, reddish eyelids, dark circles, and all over tiredness filled expression. If her cheeks weren't so scarlet, she is sure they would be as white as the walls of her room "You haven't been sleeping well?" It's not meant to offend or tease, but it comes out that way. Besides, she knows the answer already.

"I don't see how that is any of your concern and I'm sure my brother already informed you on everything."

And now she understands Micah's anger better, his anger came from Castaspella's and still she was in the middle of it all. Like always she was the source of the tentions, "He did not." It's the truth, he didn't, all he did was conform what she already knew, "I figured it myself...", it's hard to stay so truthful and with voice gentle that she has to lash something out again, "Not that it was very hard, you're quite an easy book to read." 

Brown eyes hold her gaze firmly, tiredness almost invisible due to the fierce that overtook it, "Maybe you should get off your horse and stop acting like you know everything.", Shadow Weaver would almost dare to call the sight beautiful, "I'm sure if you did you would not be here, doing absolutely nothing."

Then she bumps her shoulder, starts walking away, but Shadow Weaver feels that same weird drawn. Before either of them know, her fingers grip the gentle wrist, "Wait.", she does not even know what it is that she wanted to say, yet she scrambles something up because she needs her, pathetic, but she did if she wanted to make things better with Micah. This was the first step, "You're right, there's absolutely nothing to do here...Let me do something, my knowledge is still wider than most of your mags'." And perhaps she can have more use from it...

The amber eyes move left and right, trying to detect a hidden meaning, some terrible, planned intention, but she can't find any. Her until then tensed wrist relaxes and it makes her heart beat faster, so she lets go as the sorceress opens her mouth. "Alright then. I'm rewriting the Guild's books."

It takes her by surprise, she won't lie, the incompetent as she is, she's doing something good, "You are?"

"In the Whispering Woods you said they were all wrong. Anyways, I could use your _wide knowledge._ What do you say?"

She only nods, but there is a content feeling she hasn't felt in quite some time. Shadow Weaver will finally be able to do something magic related, something familiar, something that actually felt like her. She did not have to try to be good, magic was all she knew. And she takes those propaganda books from the head sorcerers, now with more acceptance than before. Her mind gets so distracted at all the things she wanted to change, to add, all the future and present students that will learn from her words. In the mist of all this, she hardly even comprehends the statement directed at her, " I'll see you tonight then."

Shadow Weaver nods, hands happily tiptoe over the brown leather, opening it to look at the first yellowish page. Then as she hears the click of heels it is as if she finally recognized, "What?" She questions, but when she looks up the head sorceress is already gone. This is not how she planned to do this, Shadow Weaver thought she'll be able to do it in her own terms. Nowhere did she realize she'll have to share such an indulgent task with someone so, so...incompetent. Her plan was just to make things decent, so that she may work on making things better with Micah, that was all...That was all.

She throws herself into work, it was too intriguing not to. Magic, Etheria, more magic and it is almost as if no time passed since the first time Light Spinner held these books, yet everything was different. But she tries not to think about it, as her hand draws spells on the new white papers. And for the first time since she came back to Mystacor she feels somewhat of its tranquility, feels it as she's buried under tons of paperwork. It was the one thing that felt familiar, too familiar to both Light Spinner and Shadow Weaver. 

Her peacefulness lasts for long, she doesn't even understand that for most of the day she kept her head in the magical books. Well, she doesn't until a disgracefully loud knock causes her to ruin a triangle spell. With an annoyed sigh she walks to the doors, pulls them open, to greet "Head sorceress." And she looks more tired than this morning, paler, and her small arms hold more books. 

She moves pass her as if she owns to room, and she kind of does, yet still. "Did you know there are like 15 of these gigantic books?" With a slam she drops them on top of her neatly left work and Shadow Weaver feels the hair on her neck rise at such an unorganized mess.

Already annoyed she hisses, "Everyone knows that.", the head sorceress now dropping onto her chair, legs crossed, and she can't believe someone like her is consider royalty.

She moves closer to the desk, pushes the new books off her work with obvious annoyance and somewhat of protectiveness. But the younger woman doesn't seem to realize or be bother by it as she picks two, three papers off the wooden surface, still leaving dozens of them. "Oh wow, you did a lot."

Her own hands move to the pile of four or five papers that stood on top of the books Castaspella brought. "Well, unlike some I actually do the work.", but the head sorceress lets her comment go unnoticed as she takes her papers and starts working.

They work in silence...for ten minutes before three yawns break through and after the fourth, she looks up. Shadow Weaver only then recognizes the bare shoulders and cape thrown over the chair. Her eyes try hard not to dwell over them, „Did you come to disturb or to work?"

But as expected the head sorceress doesn't understand that she's talking about more than just loud muffles, "Sorry, I forgot people can't yawn in the presence of Shadow Weaver." To her luck their eyes don't meet, and she takes it to observe her furthermore if just for a moment. Her hand is shaky as she continues to draw, posture slugging and she looks as if her head is going to drop and hit the desk any minute. Yet there's something about the way she presents herself now and even back when they were rushing through the woods. As if oblivious to the beauty that she holds, a beauty that even someone like Shadow Weaver couldn't deny. But before a single inappropriate thought can pass her mind there is another one, one that echoes so loudly it makes her feel disgustingly irritated. _She's his sister._

"Go to sleep then or at least cover your mouth."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"First Ones, who chose you to be in charge?" 

"Oh, shut up!"

And so, on they work between silence and bickering while Shadow Weaver wonders how long it will actually take for her to wrap her hands around the spoil brat that was the head sorceress and choke her until no nonsense can leave her pitch-black lips. Thank the First Ones, she was more irritable than pretty. But she pushes both kind of thoughts out as she reminds herself about the higher goal, for whose she's doing it. She holds onto her spite as Micah's angry words echo her mind along those of Adora and many, many more other. It is the first step, just the first step. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year in advance!! Hope you all have an incredible time, stay safe and lets all hope 2021. is better.


	6. Old feelings and new realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver struggles with the effects of her new life without the dark magic and some new information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a SLIGHTLY longer chapter because it took me longer to post haha...hope you all enjoy it

They work for two months. Two whole months for nearly every day. They are barely pass the third quarter of the first book and she cannot be more proud of herself that she did not yet kill the obnoxious little thing that was the head sorceress. On the contrary she would say that she was getting used to her, too used to her that is. It happens steadily, gradually, and before she knows it; she's embarrassingly waiting for the time they work together, sometimes she so eager to do more than to stare at the empty walls, she starts as soon as she wakes up. Because she doesn't miss _her_ company, just the fact she brings her something to do. Gives her a purpose of a sorts.

Yet it's so easy to learn not only about this purpose of hers, but of Castaspella too.

She loathes the way she starts to know things about her, things she does not care about, things she should not know, yet she sees them. The disgustingly annoying way she bites her pens when thinking. The head sorceress practically chews on it as if she's an animal of a sorts, not a ruler. "Oh, stop that, will you?", Shadow Weaver scolds at her causing the younger woman to groan in frustration. It was obvious she absolutely despised being bossed around, scolded, or criticized, even if it was constructive criticism and it was not an unknown thing that she herself was much fond of all those. So, back and forth they go, the young ruler does it to annoy her and she scolds to annoy her back, it's as simple as that.

They are other things she notices, ones that she does not take time to voice out loud. She doesn't because they are weird things to know, but if she was to guess it is only a normality after you spend a certain amount of time with someone. You get to know the things that make them who they are, such as Shadow Weaver came to know the too sweet flowery perfume sprayed on by the head sorceress. That scent that crept up her nose when the wind blew her way or they simply stood too close, reading over the same paragraphs. One time a question, a thought, passed her mind, if maybe the head sorceress uses floral soaps, if she liked such sweet scents, but she quickly shouts down such ways of thinking. Unknown of why they even came to her.

There are behaviors she sees that she should perhaps voice, yet she doesn't. Shadow Weaver does not tell her that even though it takes her hours to practically write two papers, she does it well. Almost too good to connect it to someone like her. But the head sorceress is good with the theory of magic, she remembers things easily, catches on quite quickly. It was a surprise to say the least, such precise work from someone who cannot draw a decent truth spell. That was her problem; to put spells into actions, what was meant to be done quickly, she does sloppy. That's why she shall never come out of her brother's shadow, no matter if she is the head sorceress or the queen or whatever she could conjure. What you show is what you are. It was the way the society of Mystacor breathed. 

That's why Shadow Weaver shall never come out of her own shadows, not in their eyes. In the world of Mystacor's mags she was nothing, but her deeds and the large possibility is that she will never be anything else than that.

Some things she comes to recognize by the way she herself is. So, for both of their sakes she does not mention them. Shadow Weaver does not question her on why she never comes after the nights of screams, which to no surprise weren't as frequent. It was incredibly difficult not to notice the dark circles that rounded her amber eyes. But she knows the embarrassment that follows with restless nights and the fact Shadow Weaver shared her secret. That is why she does not ask or comments on it. 

The Micah situation has still not been mended; it cannot be as he never comes. She'll never admit it, not even to her own mind, but it was almost as if she missed their wine nights. 

Sometimes the head sorceress invites her to her own private chamber, just to work that is. She has never been inside the head sorcerers' rooms, not as Light Spinner, not as Shadow Weaver and she cannot help but to take in the parts of it. Large bed with golden frame and covers of the most expensive materials, bay window similar to the one in her bedroom, yet bigger with pretty curtains on each side of it. There are things that she feels like should not belong in there, such as threads of wool rolled into balls, a paper with a childlike scramble framed on the wall and signed with Glimmer.

Shadow Weaver prefers when they do not work in Castaspella's corridors because as the weeks pass, the weather gets warmer and so the head sorceress greets her in more and more revealing night garments. They hug her in all the right places, show off her perfectly long legs, deep cleavage covered by the loose hair that falls in curls. It's all so informal and unprofessional, but it's not really what bothers her the most. There's another problem growing stronger each day she was unchained from her shadows. The ability to feel all sorts of things became alive inside of her or well was coming back after all those years. It was much easier to have a grip on her emotions before the Spell of Obtainment and during the life with it she practically did not have any. So, when they all rushed back inside of her, it was hardly possible to keep any kind of control. With this new rush desire spirals her. Desire that the head sorceress does not make any easier to fight. But if there's one thing she learned over the years it was to cover. So, she ignores her desires which she just signs over to needs, needs nothing else. And even if it is more, which it definitely is not, the head sorceress is Micah's sister and that's enough to shut down any kind of thoughts about her that weren't strictly formal. Besides, in a matter of physical appearances, she was far out of her reach, younger, beautiful, even without the scars, Shadow Weaver does not think she would come even close to such...And, well, the head sorceress appeared to be more of a maiden waiting for her prince or good-hearted knight than a ruler waiting for a villainous woman with years of mischief and other sins behind her.

Actually, not one person seems to fit that description.

Another night echoes with short lived screams that still manage to stir her out of her light sleep. She guesses that the head sorceress will not come, and it makes her a bit frustrated. They are to go to the Arxia, which the younger woman kept postponing for all sorts of reasons and now this. Unable to fall back asleep due to her irritation, she slowly rises off the bed and towards the oriel. There she sits, overlooking at the colorful gardens that still sleep as the dawn steadily comes in most mesmerizing colors that were much more vibrant in orange and pink than those pastel ones that come to be during the sunsets.

She sits there for First Ones know how long, contemplating what to do with another empty day at her hands. Until even that becomes boring, because she knows it will be like any other so far, and she gets dressed just to sit at her desk and work on the new translation, which she could not finish without the books from Arxia. She contemplates going alone, but the guards would never let her pass without the head sorceress. Castaspella is the key, no one other than her or her permission can even step as close to the halls that lead down to the ancient citadel. 

Yet, no one could pay her surprise as a loud knock bangs only to reveal the head sorceress behind a wooden door. "Head sorceress.", she greets holding her shock in place. 

"Good morning.", the shorter woman smiles, it's more of a grimace though. "I have the books from the library" and really, she is holding a few small, dusty looking books, "so only those from Arxia are missing, though I quite doubt we'll find much of anything there...even if it was who knows what has been destroyed." She already rambles and Shadow Weaver thinks her head is to explode as she listens to her while trying to comprehend how she came.

In a second of silence, she uses her chance to quickly step in before the head sorceress can go on with her rambling, "Arxia then." Her legs step outside, the doors close, and she does it to let her know it was not a question. She has been waiting for this too much already.

And so, the younger woman leads the way with the books, she was not given a chance to leave, in her arms. Castaspella leads until they pass the guards, the ones that look at her as if she's dirty, their eyes skim over her scars, but they don't say anything, they cannot, due to their ruler's presence. Then as they are left alone in the barely dimmed hallway, the head sorceress stops, and Shadow Weaver looks at her more annoyed than confused. "You know the halls better than I." With a low _hmm_ and a nod of head she turns her head back to the long path and takes on the role of leading.

There's no obnoxious storytelling from the head sorceress this time, and it takes her a few long moments before she realizes there is no useless rambling or gossip coming from her either. If anything, the young ruler is weirdly odd. Too quiet, only the clicks of heels making her presence known, those clicks that ring so close to her that Shadow Weaver knows she's following her in step, with hardly any distance that her floral scent has already filled the space around her.

Her observations are soon proven correct. As she stops in her tracks, remembering which turn to take and as she does, she swiftly turns to announce it to the head sorceress. Yet the woman is standing closer than expected and for some reason the quick turn surprises her. The library books fall onto the floor caused by the flinch that escapes her and Shadow Weaver can't help but to narrow her eyes at her. They are so close that even in such low lighting conditions she can see her bloodshot widen eyes, "Everything alright head sorceress?" If she is to guess Castaspella's face is filled with...fear?

The question seems to shake her out of whatever anxious spell as she crunches down, rapidly picking the books, "I told you not to call me that!" She hisses at her, yet she catches the shakiness of her tone.

"It's your title is it not?" Shadow Weaver feels herself getting filled with irritation at the fact her, for once, actually genuine question got only ignoring and hissing.

"I have a name, you know?", she looks up at her, still lowered down, picking a few papers that flew around. But she herself doesn't say anything, simply watching from above, causing only more anger, "Whatever!" And she does not get why all of a sudden Castaspella was acting that way, people aimed to be called by their titles, it is a sign of power, respect, after all. Still, she doesn't question her furthermore, only continuing their path once the woman picks herself up. Even though she doesn't question her she notices the way her books are clenched tighter, pressed harder against her chest.

The Arxia is mostly left in ruins, even now months after the war and she wonders why that is. Why wouldn't someone already be working on repairing it? Could it be that the head sorceress is really that incompetent she simply forgot about it?

Yet Shadow Weaver manages to scramble through it, dirtying her brownish robes. She refuses to leave until she has what she needs, without the book they might as well quit. And she was not about to quit the one thing that made somewhat of a sense. 

At last, after an hour or so of silence and quiet rumbling, she finds what she needs. It's only then does she notices an hour of quietness, the lack of the obnoxious the younger sorceress usually cares with her. Her narrowed brows turn around the room, scanning until her little figure is spotted staring at the frescoes on the walls. "I've found it, we might as well leave now."

She turns to walk toward the ruin exist, that was barely passable, but as no answer or click of heels are heard she glances over her shoulder, where the woman is still standing like mere moments ago. "Head sorceress?" Shadow Weaver finds her legs are moving towards her, almost instinctively and as another one of her callings is unanswered, she slowly lifts her palm, lowering it gently onto Castaspella's shoulders. What she does not expect is for the young sorceress to flinch at her again, practically shaking under her touch before she turns to her with eyes wide, breaths heavy and her palm drops away. "Why don't you talk to him?"

"What?" Her now rose-tinted face shakes with confusion.

"Your brother...you don't want to worry him more, but what you are doing is dumbfounded." She starts slower now almost as if she was explaining to a child and she watches the way Castaspella's face turns from confusion to understanding what she was talking about.

"Stop pretending that you know me!" The head sorceress bumps their shoulders, rushing away from her, but Shadow Weaver is quicker to catch her wrist.

"You think people don't know it's you, they talk...You aren't getting anything from this, you need to talk to someone." She wishes to say more, how her behavior is distracting their work, how she needs to pull a grip on herself, Stars, she's the head sorceress. But she doesn't. It would be too much; she would cross the invisible line again.

"Hah, and who would that be?" The head sorceress laughs, pulling her wrist roughly and then she rises her eyebrow with a sarcastic smirk, "You?"

She has not really meant it like that, yet she only struggles her shoulders, causing the sorceress' face to drop serious. "I should get back."

That night as she sits in her room, all by herself, she cannot get the head sorceress out of her head. No matter how hard she is trying her question her flinches and fearful eyes kept coming to her. Micah should be here, comforting his sister, not her. That is the last thing she needs.

So, as the maid comes to bring her dinner, with that same stoic face and no words, Shadow Weaver decides to hit her with a question because she does not wish to think about the head sorceress for a second longer. "What's with the limp?", she spats out, quite rudely so.

Only plates clink after her words and she is surely to be ignored by the maid, like on most of all occasion. Yet her old and harsh voice breaks through just before Shadow Weaver can hit her with something else "Your soldiers were always brutal, weren't they?"

It's odd to admit but she is not entirely in understanding with the question or more of a statement that was thrown at her. Yes, her cadets were thought nothing but strength and brutality, not that Hordak wanted anything less for that _brother_ of his. But what war was there to lead with a helpless maid.

As on cue with her thoughts like a mind reader the maid, whose name is still unknown even though she sees her every day for months, spats as rudely as she had minutes ago, "I wasn't always a maid, you..." and she stops because she has no right to insult her since at the time given Shadow Weaver is guest at the royal palace and the maid was just that, a maid, a peasant. Something about that, about someone being under her, sent a shot of power through her. Though it was not long lived.

"I was a royal guard once, a great one that was" she almost chuckles at the self-compliment, "in the service of the head sorceress and her brother from the day you casted that devious spell." Shadow Weaver can barely keep her face from dropping with all sorts of feelings that pass through her, but the maid even if she notices her struggle continues with even more harshness. "Until your guards rushed into the castle, attacking civilians...Three of yours against a boy, a child" she turns her head away, hating the sharp feeling in her chest, the way she calls them hers. "I stepped in, the boy lived at the expense of my career, not that it mattered...Lives are more important than power...not that you'll ever understand." With that she slams the doors, leaves her alone once again.

Her mission turns to be a success, her mind no longer dwelling on the mess that was the head sorceress. It rather takes a turn on her own miserable failure of a life. She pushes the dinner plate away unable to look at it, her stomach clenching at the new realization. The fact that for once she sees someone whose life was ruined due to the Horde, due to her. Even with the Spell of Obtainment somewhere deep inside her, deeper than the abyss, hidden in the dark, she knew her ways of protecting, teaching, Adora and Catra were hurtful, to say the least. But the fool she was she thought that's where it stopped, everything else was for greater good, for Etheria. Yet her failures seem to have ruin more than her own life, more than the lives of the two young girls. 

And that night as she turns left and right, even though there are no screams. Her mind echoes, loudly and on repeat. Micah shouldn't have given her a chance; she'll never be able to escape her bad deeds. What is the point if trying? Who knows have many lives she had ruin? How can she ever overcome them when even Micah, the good man he was turned his back on her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only fool that still uses pinterest in 2021.?  
> Well, probably...


	7. Trying

> "All these scars. The road map of my life. My armor."
> 
> Richard Kadrey

She does not know who she thinks about more in the next few days, Castaspella with her fearful eyes, the maid and the limp that decided her destiny or perhaps herself and her own mistakes. Maybe she thinks about it all the same amount or maybe like always she’s selfish and gives her life more thought than the rest. Either way all she knows is that she cannot get it out of her head, none of it. Not the maid, nor the sorceress, nor herself.

Even the books from Arxia or transcription seem to fail at putting her mind at ease. Castaspella comes less than usual from the time they went to the citadel. In those five days each night was filled with her bloody screams, making it even harder to escape those that filled her own mind.

Shadow Weaver avoids going to the steam grotto, even though it might sooth her. All in fears that she might see the head sorceress or the maid or both of them there and perhaps even worse she might see someone else. Someone else might see her…her scars and they’ll think what she’s been thinking about for days. They will all see her for the awful person she is, Stars, who is she fooling, they all already see her for who she truly is. Only herself she managed to fool for as long as she has.

Third life, second chance…It was all a bunch of bullshit. Her curse, not her saving nor her chance. This life like all her others before will be nothing more than a walk of pain and failures. Why in the name of the First Ones should she even try when there is absolutely no way of redoing what’s been done. Everyone is already set in their ways about her, even Shadow Weaver herself believes that there is no good in her. She is unable of redemption, undeserving of it, unearning of forgiveness. Why did they have to heal her? Why couldn’t they let her die?

Now she is a joke to the whole universe, nothing but a miserable woman left to the mercy of those around her. Never in her lives has she felt as pathetic as she is now, not when the Guild laughed and called her crazy behind her back and in her face as Light Spinner, not when the shadows ate at her body, ripping through her skin and mind, blacking her soul, not when Hordak placed her in chains just to give Catra the position she fought so hard to get, not when they found her on the edge of death in the woods, laying on the wet grass.

On the fifth day of her mind’s crisis, she nearly loses her temper by the fact she cannot stop replaying images and thoughts and then she almost pushes the papers and books off the desk onto the floor because they are the constant reminder of Castaspella’s odd behavior. The weird behavior that caused her to talk to the maid, that led to the dark and twisted truths that she so hard tried to cover in lies and different perspectives.

So, unable to stand it anymore, and the walls she now knows by heart, she pushes off the chair and heads towards the wooden door. She stops only for a second, turns to face the oriel. The sun shines warm and bright, it is not even noon meaning the castle and all surrounding it are full on awakened and Shadow Weaver has not yet came over her pride to ask for a mask or a veil. Her mind might be poison by the pathetic feelings, but her heart is still full with excessive spite. Just like that she opens the doors with all the strength she has causing them to bang loudly, by that time she’s already halfway through the hallway.

She is prepared for the gardens to be filled with professors, students, mags with their shiny spells and powerful magic still untrained. Shadow Weaver expects children whose laughter and playful screams rang as they run with the flowers they've picked. She thinks somewhere along her walk she might see the head sorceress in all her obnoxious cheerfulness, perhaps a royal guard by her side, perhaps alone. Old acquaintances with bitter eyes and cold gossips.

But she sees none of that as her legs stop in the middle of the meadow that looks so brightly green against the warm sun that tickles her face and its flowers look like the prettiest gems and crystals in all colors of the rainbow. Yet the noise of voices that overlap makes her ears twitch with unpleasantness. Eyes in the color of the same grass under her feet shot up, away from the mesmerizing flowers.

What she sees makes her take a careful two steps forward. A crowd, no, a line of people stands in front of her, it stretches from the gates up to the one of the exits of the palace. Her heartbeats quicker slightly, but still, she cannot look away, curiosity takes the best of her and her legs take another two or three steps. Now she's close enough to see the oddly appearances of those in her sight. Some wear winter coats too thick for Mystacor's weather, the clothes is as ripped as her skin on some, boots, bare feet. There are children, children that don't laugh nor pick flowers off the ground rather the cries of some fill her sensitive ears. Those kids that hold onto the gowns of tired looking women, mothers she guesses. Muddy faces mix with bloody ones, crying ones, weary and tired ones.

She cannot tear her eyes away, cannot pull away from the memory of her mother's eyes and their own shabby clothes, the leftover food they've ate in the basement of the rich family they've both worked for, all just to buy her new books so that she might become someone one day. _One day, Light._ Her mother used to tell her. _You'll be so successful; you'll buy us the biggest house._ She would smile down at her, her eyes were always heavy and sad, but Light Spinner would smile back, head filled with useless fantasies. Her mother tried hard, worked even harder, everything just for the two of them and all it got her to was sickness and quicker death. All it got Light Spinner was a life of a poor orphan in a fancy school where no one cared what she had to say. Light Spinner never became someone, not truly.

"It's rude to stare." A voice, familiar one, shakes her away, breaks the images she has not thought about in what felt like a lifetime, maybe it has been that long.

"Micah.", she says, forcing on a smile that would have been genuine if she has not been disturbed by the sight in front of her and surprised by his presence. They have not seen each other for two months, two months that she thought would have gone on for more.

He steps closer, now standing next to her, and she can see him from the corner of her eye. Yet Shadow Weaver does not know what to do as she tries hard not to fidget with her hands, "What exactly are you doing here?"

"Can a man not visit his old home once in a blue moon?" His voice does not sound angry or offended. Micah rather laughs, chuckling quietly. And she dares to turn somewhat, to see him fully.

"What about them?" Her hand rises pointing to the line that was barely moving forward. 

Micah's face then falls with a quiet sigh, he places his palm around her upper arm. Has he forgotten about their fall out or has she been imagining? "They are all victims of the war, in one way or another they have suffered, Casta has opened the doors of Mystacor, they are here to ask for help, I guess they are in hopes that she can offer them somewhat of prosperity", then he stops, and she doesn't look away from the crowd to hear the weary of his tone. "but it can only go for so long."

But Micah does not hang onto his worry for long as he steps in front of her and gives her one of his warm smiles. Then he squeezes her arm lightly, pushes gently as to motion they walk further down the garden towards the big fountains and she follows without a second thought.

"I've heard you're helping Casta with the Guild's books. That’s...nice of you." Her plan must have been working, that's why he doesn't seem angry. Because Castaspella is also the key to Micah, not just the Arxia. That has to be the explanation, yet before she can ask anything, question furthermore to get her answers his face turns serious, sad almost. "Listen, I'm sorry about what happened the last time...I get overprotective from time to time, say things I don't mean."

Her breath seems to get stuck in her lungs and it takes her quite a few moments to grasp what's happening, to shake her head. "I shouldn't have interfered..."

"Still, I shouldn't have said those things, I did not mean-"

She's quick to stop him now, feeling more in control of herself. As much as she has missed him, he might have been right. She is not trying to be good, not for herself, just because of pride and spite. Nothing more." You were right...What good could there even be left."

"Don't say that, you were willing to sacrifice yourself in Heart. You still haven't burned Mystacor to the ground and took off have you?" He jokes probably trying to ease his own nerves, "Just try..."

"I'm not sure I even know how to do that." Shadow Weaver does not know why she spats it out like that, without the second of thought. Yet there's something about Micah, something that drives the honest part of her. Perhaps it was the Light Spinner she sees in him.

"It's all about your actions, remember you have to earn forgiveness just like anything else in life. Besides when the situation's right you'll know. Just like you did in the Heart." Her voice rises in her throat, she wishes to disagree. Tell him the conclusions she has been thinking about just that morning, but he must have seen it on her face. "Trust me, okay? Everything will work out. First Ones, if Hordak and Catra and so many more can work on their mistakes who says you cannot?"

"We both know mine and theirs are incomparable."

"You have to come to terms with the past and face those you've hurt and then let it go. It's only on them to accept the forgiveness or not, but you must try."

Shadow Weaver's mouth opens, but before a word can slip from them Micah turns on his heels, starts walking away. "I must go. I'll trust you'll take my advice."

She continues to work on the new translations and additions once she’s back in her room. Yet still they do not bring her much pleasure or calmness like they did the first day. But they are a good way to shut out all the unwanted things that wished to pass through her brain. A perfect distraction, well it would be if Castaspella’s neat handwriting wasn’t smudged all over it, if references to dark magic weren’t described through large paragraphs.

The maid had already brought her dinner, one that now stands cold on the edge of the desk along with stale tea and perfectly delicious lemon cakes. She’s not hungry, well not enough to eat, even though she has not put a single thing in her mouth since this morning’s fruit salad. Bad habit, but she can’t bring herself to eat when her mind feels on edge and her stomach like it’s shrinking.

All those people today…Had she been the cause of their pain too? Those people that reminded her of a mother, whose face has been blocked, foggy, due to the shadows surrounding its innocence and now the time has done its work and it has almost faded completely. She can’t remember her face in full, not that she wishes to either, her small smile and sad eyes flash, her sugarcoated promises. Fool she was and fool she died…for her…Light Spinner ruined her, the first of many to fall under her. Light Spinner, Shadow Weaver, does it truly matter? The end results are always the same. Pain, suffering, distraction, failures, they spin in a circle and she’s always the one in the middle of it, making them swirl faster, until they all come crushing down on her.

She’s not sure what time is it when a quiet bang shakes her away from the desk. Her hand is at the nob in a matter of seconds, curiosity getting to her faster than anything. It is late, that she knows from the pitch-black sky and shiny stars visible from the oriel. Shadow Weaver pushes the doors open without even checking who it is that comes at such hours. Of course, she’s met with a lowered head and black hair that misses the golden tiara, and the sorceress' robes are replaced with a simple nightgown.

“Head sorceress, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Her teasingly low voice breaks through first, "Isn't it a bit l-" Yet it dies out as the sorceress raises her head, their gazes connecting, and she sees the stream of tears running down her rosy cheeks. So, she steps aside, letting her enter without a single question. Once the head sorceress is inside, she's quick to close the doors and turn to her.

"I know it's late, I shouldn't have come, but...I did know where else to..." Shadow Weaver eyes her carefully, yet her Castaspella keeps her head fixated on the marble floor as her hands fidget in front of her. What she said cannot possibly be right when her brother is corridors away. Why come here, to her? "I can't get it out of my head...", her voice breaks so unpleasantly that it makes her ears twitch and her heart to bolt.

"What?" She's careful to speak in a gentle voice while her legs move to stand closer to the younger sorceress. 

"Micah...when we were in the Arxia looking for the key and he, he tried to kill us. I see it in my dreams. It's like I'm there, I feel his magic, it's killing..." Castaspella cries harder, practically choking on her words.

"That's why you refuse to tell him." She watches her nod her head rapidly, still avoiding her gaze.

"I can't stop...I don't know what to do."

"But Micah said you had this problem before. Don't you have an idea on what could have caused it?"

A shrug of shoulders is followed by a slightly more composed tone, "Well, when I was younger it would usually happen when I would get scared and then it kind of disappeared...But now I don't know it's like every little thing triggers it and I don't understand what's wrong with me..."

"Wars are stressful times that can haunt us even after they end."

As unexpectedly as an earthquake Castaspella launches at her, wraps hands incredibly tight around her waist, head buries in her chest, "Will it ever stop?" She mutters as Shadow Weaver struggles to understand what she's to do with her own hands that stood uncomfortably in midair. 

_When the situation's right you'll know. Just like you did in the Heart._

"I don't know." Her arms dare to return the gesture, just much lighter, as she places them around the woman's back.

She lets the obnoxious little thing to cry against her robes because she does not feel as obnoxious as usually. But still, she feels little in her arms, too vulnerable, yet so easy to comfort. It's easy to hold her and for some reason it does not disturb her nor is she bothered by her sweet scents or the hair that tickles her as she drops her chin to rest on top of her head. The wet sensation of Castaspella's tears on her dress doesn't bother her either, she simply listens to her sniffs and feels her shake again her as heavy breaths leave her.

"I could use your help with this one spell." Shadow Weaver lies in a small whisper, "What do you say?"

Fragile hands leave her to wipe the tears off the warm and pinkish face before she moves to sit at her chair. And Shadow Weaver can only smile to herself with a simple eye roll.

> "Though my soul may set in darkness,
> 
> it will rise in perfect light;
> 
> I have loved the stars too fondly
> 
> to be fearful of the night."
> 
> Sarah Williams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm finally back with this tbh i did not feel like writing this story for, i needed something more light-hearted. but i guess i'll be working on it now though i'm not sure how much time i'll have since my winter break is ending on monday...stressful times are coming :(


	8. Croassroads

The next time she comes banging on her doors it's with a much louder knock and a happier face. Her hands don't fidget in front of her she rather holds a bottle of wine, bringing it up to Shadow Weaver's face with a strangely big smile that makes her cringe.

"What is the meaning of this?" She finds herself hissing, yet not as terrifyingly as she usually made it sound. But she also moves aside to let the awfully cheerful head sorceress pass. The floral scent immediately fills the room along with the click of heels.

Like always Castaspella drops to her chair as if Shadow Weaver hasn't been sitting there moments ago. "Well..." she stretches it out, waiting for her to join and once she's sitting across from her, she continues while filling the two tall glasses with shiny red wine, "We are celebrating." The ruler moves her head up flashing her another smile.

And Shadow Weaver has to look down at the drink handed to her. Just because the view suddenly makes her blood rush faster. "Why is that?"

"The Guild accepted my proposal to renew the books along with the teaching system." She wishes to keep her eyes at the red liquid but even that she cannot do for more than a few seconds before something is drawing her gaze up. It is as if she wants to look into that shiny amber color, and that black lipstick that fits the sorceress better than it should. It is as if her eyes want to look at the contrast between her creamy face and dark hair that falls in two perfectly symmetrical strands. "I would have done it either way, but it's easier like this. So, cheers."

Castaspella hits their glasses together and the red wave appears inside the fragile glass. While Shadow Weaver still stand with her face dumbfounded stoic, fighting between comprehending what has been said to her and why she has been noticing such things. As the head sorceress brings the glass to her parted lips and her head tilts back, she too mimics her. The only difference is that she swallowed all of it while the younger woman barely drank half of it, before giving her a questioning look.

"What did you do to make those old hags agree?", She lets her eyes stay fixated on Castaspella's this time and her hand to grab the bottle and make herself a refill. "Whatever it was, I must tell you very impressive, head sorceress." What takes over her, she's not sure, but Shadow Weaver feels a tug on her lips and before she even realizes there's a cocky smirk painted on her lips. Her eyes narrow slightly, but she still holds her gaze, fully oblivious to what it is that takes her do it.

"Ah, I did not do it by myself." The sorceress replies with her smile decreasing until there's only a small line. "It may come as a surprise, but the Guild never fully accepted a female ruler. Especially, when they think I took what was rightfully Micah's." And the smirk Shadow Weaver holds falls too, because that's what she said too.

"Not that I care much of their opinions.", but she does, she can see it in the way her smile completely disappears, the glass of wine once again stands full in her hand. "It just gets tiring of repeating the same old every time. But Ser Nyoka helped support my case." The red liquid passes her lips before she notices her silent question. "He's the general, very respected."

Castaspella does not bring up what happened the other day, the too personal encounter they've shared or rather the sorceress shared with her. Neither does she. It's odd, once she would have used the opportunity to strike at her companion. Now it seems that she does not have any desire to do such thing. Shadow Weaver simply doesn't want to ruin the atmosphere. Make it the lack of shadows, make it the wine, she doesn't know what it is, but she likes the unprofessional, relaxed situation they have going. 

It amuses her, the way the head sorceress quickly loses herself in the bittersweet wine. Her posture even more disgraceful than on other days, her obviously sleep-deprived head resting in her hand, her red cheek presses against her palm and black painted nails. Only her laugh seems to change from disgraceful to more graceful, it sounds too pleasant to her ears. Perhaps, she has lost herself in the sweetly drink that keeps her bottle full at all times even though it is not even noon. 

In the midst of their oddly amusing celebration the head sorceress rises from her seat, rapidly and unexpectedly. It makes her eyes widen, looking for a sign of distress, but she doesn't find any, not yet. The shorter woman rather moves towards the oriel with that large smile on her face. And for some reason Shadow Weaver finds herself following her.

As she stops to stand next to her, Castaspella turns to face, still with that smile on her face. It's a different one from the obnoxious one she echoes through the halls. When comparing it to this one, only she is seeing, Shadow Weaver would dare to call the other one staged, fake, a mask. It could just be the alcohol making her imagine things that weren't even there, but she hasn’t even drank halfway to her limits. 

The morning's sun hits at her face making her perfections even more known. She's glad her face is turned away from the rays as she looks the sorceress straight in the eyes. Their brown color is illuminated too. In such a way it appears lighter, yellowish, even like a golden layer is painted on top of it. She's once again not sure what it is, the wine, the sun, her eyes, or the perfectionism of her looks, but the control she worked on for months seems to slip. Her hands slip too.

Before she knows of gripping the desire back, they are cupping the warm face on each side, dragging it forward until her lips are met with a soft surface that tastes of wine, chocolate, and distasteful lipstick. Her brain as if in trance, overwhelmed by the affection, by touch, lets her body work on instinct. Her eyes close, her hands pressing harder into Castaspella's cheeks as her lips drink the wine from hers, legs take a step forward. The sorceress, whose arms she feels lightly on her upper ones, lowers down on the window seat and her own legs hit the floor. Her tongue sticks out to trace the shape of her lips, yet Castaspella's meets it halfway. The feeling sends shocks down her spine and she takes it too far. One of her hands leaves the warmth of the face and travels down to the knee. From there it goes up, up, pulling the smooth material of a purple dress with it and s-

Her head flies to the right, lips sliding away as the left side of her face burns. "How dare you?!" The head sorceress yells, getting up and away. She stepped over the line; she knows.

"I didn't mean to" Shadow Weaver starts to collect herself off the floor and with somewhat dignity and a firm attitude changes the course of her statement, "offend Your Majesty. Though I'm sure you could have shown your displeased feelings differently." Her fingers brush over her cheek where the shadow of a slap still stings her face.

With stoically cold face she dares to look at the younger woman, who simply nods letting her comment slip. "I'll see you tonight, the Guild wants a finished book by the next eclipse. My chambers." She opens the doors and leaves without waiting for a reply and perhaps it's better that way.

A new kind of anger builds inside of her. With the free hours on her hands, she cannot do much but to replay this morning's events. Over and over again like she used to check over the war plans. Perhaps, it's not even a new version of rage, perhaps, it's just the old kind. But she has not had a chance to be rejected like that in so long she simply forgot what it is like. A rejection so harsh.

As if the sorceress couldn't have pushed her away, ordered her to stop. There was no need for such burning slap nor was there any indication that one was coming her way. Yes, she shouldn't have kissed her, it was merely a split on her part, a weakening desire that broke through her cracks. But the head sorceress shouldn't have let it go so far, she shouldn't have let their tongues meet. Why in Etheria did she lead into it just to pull away so strongly?

She carries these thoughts through lunch and through corridors. All until the sight or rather lack of the guards in front of the head sorceress' room makes her freeze. Shadow Weaver tries not to give the unexpected view much thought as her right leg prepares to take a step forward. Yet, she doesn't even manage to lift it off the floor before a scream keeps her body in a statue like position, only her ears rise slightly.

"She just wants power, to use you, not that anyone would blame her!" A male voice says, but she can’t tell who it belongs to. Only the raw rage like one a bloodthirsty beast would have. It makes her own look like a little butterfly.

The anger is soon followed by a familiar voice of what sounds like an irritated Castaspella, "What are you saying?" 

"The way you greet her..." The unknown person scoffs, and there's a short pause before she can hear him continue, “I mean look at you, you might as well spread your legs for her." Is this about her? About-

"Get out!" Before she can react, the doors fly open and then slam. The unknown figure stands in her way, it looks her up and down. And she does the same. He doesn't say a word to her. Neither does she. 

He's slightly taller than the average men, his shape, muscles, build stronger. In his arm he holds a shiny, newly polished helmet. And Shadow Weaver doesn't miss the red star carved into the chest of his armor. A sign only generals wore.

_Ser Nyoka helped support my case. He's the general, very respected._

She still holds his gaze, doesn't let his narrowed eyebrows and burning eyes to intimidate her. But he simply turns his back to her and stomps away with echoing steps. Still, she waits few more seconds before moving to knock against the sorceress' doors.

"It's open."

Castaspella wears one of her revealing gowns yet this time with a white robe that stretches almost down to her ankles. And once she sits across from her, she notices the glimmering water in her eyes and the puffiness that surrounds them. At the given moment her butterfly seems to turn into a beast, only this time it's directed to someone else. 

The room stays quiet for the time being, only their writing pens make an annoyingly repeating sound. She wonders if perhaps she should say something about what happened hours away. She wonders and her palm burns as Castaspella's free hand lays on the table, so delicately and so close. It burns with an aching scream, one that tells her to squeeze it tightly as she justifies herself. But what exactly would she tell her...What are her justifications? Even she doesn't have an answer to that. Her head is quick to shake these thoughts. She is Shadow Weaver, she doesn't think like that, doesn't feel in that way. Such things are forbidden to her and for many reasons. Well at least she shouldn't, she wouldn't before.

Besides there are far more important things to dwell on than the head sorceress. She has to keep working on earning Micah's trust, on proving herself so that she doesn't have to stay locked inside the four white walls. To find out what it was that she wanted to say to Adora and Catra back in Bright Moon. She has to learn to be good, or decent at least, because no such thing lives inside of her. In one thing she is sure, there’s more that she wants from this second-third life of hers, even if she doesn't deserve it.

But as she finds her way back to her quarters, the true trying is only to begin. What she does not expect is for it require what it does. She should have learned long ago good things cannot be achieved by going through an easy road. Light Spinner tried to do it, and here she is, paying the price. Decent intentions can lead to catastrophically results when executed wrongly. And as she hears that deep voice again on her way back, she knows she won’t let herself do the same to Castaspella. So, she hides behind a cold wall, like a spy she listens to the traitorous words she never though she’ll hear. As if today has not already been full of ups and downs.

“The head sorceress will soon fall. I’ve filled her head with enough doubt.” The general says causing her blood to boil again, not that it ever stopped.

“How can you be so sure? You’ll know what’ll happen if we are discovered. She’ll have our hea- “Another voice comes through, it’s low and she barely manages to understand what it is that the man says.

“Shush! Castaspella is a naïve fool. She eats up all I tell her…” Shadow Weaver clenches her fists with a sudden urge to leave her hiding place and face the general. _Ser Nyoka helped support my case. He's the general, very respected._ He’s manipulating her, she knows better than anyone, and the thought of it makes her burn. There’s a possessiveness that fills her, she lets the reason to that stay hidden in the depths of her soul.” The Guild already disapproves of her; all you need to do is come forward with them working on dark magic and I’ll confirm she and Shadow Weaver are planning a treason.” Her heart beats faster at the mention of her name, and she knows she’s in the middle of it all, once again. No matter how much she wishes to run to the sorceress with the new information, she wouldn’t trust her.

“How much time do I have?”

“The next meeting is in two weeks. Enough people saw them together for it to work.” Besides she accepts what must be done. To walk the path without destroying it, one must let go of that that causes destruction. And she is ready to do so, to push away and lock herself in her room, even though she mere minutes ago was wanting nothing more than to unlock herself of the four walls. But like Micah would say, the situation is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already miss the holidays, responsibilities are hard hahah...


End file.
